Cheap Haircuts

First Tithonia of the season, a Mexican Sunflower, Lord knows what speciality plants cost in a store, I'd sown a packet of seeds in February, and ended up with several dozen plants.  It also reseeds itself prolifically and is a tried and true magnet for hummingbirds and butterflies.  In another week there'll be hundreds of blooms.  I'll then spend hours deadheading in order to keep it blooming until late fall.

I took Sabrina, Scotty and Jack to town for haircuts, picking up a truckload of leaves to reward myself, and I sat there leafing through magazines and thinking I'm really glad I'm old, off the market, turned out to pasture, whatever.  I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but I'm finding modern life appalling, if not alarming.

Do young females not have any respect at all for themselves?  It's like so many people are lost, without purpose or much meaning in their lives, I read enough articles on emptiness to make me get up and pace the salon.  Set some goals, America, that don't involve spray tans and see if that works out better for you.

Boring mags so I read Facebook on my phone, so many folks on vacation, how cool is that, makes me happy for everyone.

Finally we were done, Lord Have Mercy, I was having a cow.  We'd tried the School of Cosmetology place where haircuts were only $4.99.  Sabrina and Jack's went quickly, but the lady took over an hour on Scotty.  I had ants in my pants, unable to hold still.

"Look at IFunny," Jack suggested, knowing I often bust out laughing, this time was no exception.

I made two forays into Ms Carr's neighborhood, needing more leaves than one might humanly imagine.

Jack's gone to Alaska with Grandma, a trip they'd planned two years ago with Grandpa, but there at the end he went fast and couldn't make it, going on a trip to Heaven instead.  The sweetest almost 12 year old on earth, it'll seem like a really long week without Jack here.

I'm the last woman in America to harvest my first tomato.  My tomatillas are rampant however.

An older teenage son came up into my room late last night, "Can we talk?"

Some girl who liked him had laid an emotionally heavy load upon his shoulders.  Girls, really?  These are soccer playing, shoot-out obsessed fart machines, unable to be therapeutically interested in a female's deep innermost feelings.  Don't lay this stuff on them, go tell your moms.

I wish I had a dollar for how many times my sons have mentioned that girls they knew need a Dr. Mandy.

Oh, Honey, we all do.

Bless his heart.  I'm just glad he felt he could confide in me.  I don't ask what the girls name is unless it is a safety issue.  We talked for a while and he trotted off feeling relieved that he didn't have to solve the world's problems.